Regalo
by Ryuko Ishida
Summary: What if Simon decided to stay with Zoë after he took his revenge? Would there be a different ending then? When someone from Simon's past threatened their relationship, and her life, he decided it was time to give her a gift that would last an eternity.
1. A Different Ending

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Meeko Melodie**

Meeko: First time writing a Silver Kiss fiction and planning to do some more. "The Silver Kiss" does not and will not belong to me, except if I buy it in a bookstore, but that's another story.

Summary: What if Simon decided to stay with Zoë after he took his revenge? Would there be a different ending then? A truly 'happily ever after' ending? They dated for a few months and as Christmas approached, Simon decided it was time to give her a gift, a gift that would last an eternity.

--

Chapter One: A Different Ending

_There was a note on her bed, scribbled on a piece of paper torn from her notebook. _Meet me in the park at 12._ It was signed with a scrolling S. _

_... He'd cheated death, yes, but was forced to live a life he hated. _

_... She shuddered... but she felt different when he was there, when she could see the loneliness on his face. _– The Silver Kiss

Zoë stared at the scribbled note, now tight in her hand as she pondered in her mind. 'Should I go?' She hesitated – quite a correct thing to do. 'But I have decided to trust him, have I not?' But she had a feeling that if she went, there was just this slight chance that he might disappear forever in front of her eyes.

'But isn't that what I want?'

In her mind, the picture of Christopher screaming with scorching pain in the pit, the foul smell of smoke rising from his dying and regenerating body once again captured in her brain and she was short in breaths. She didn't think she could stand it again. But if this was the last time she was going to see him...

She couldn't picture that any longer; crumpling the piece of paper, she flung it carelessly on the ground, hard with the action and threw herself onto her bed. Silence of the house once again haunted her being. Zoë didn't know how much time had passed, nor did she care the least bit but as she opened her eyes, all was dark. Even the streetlights outside of her bedroom window seemed to dim the slightest.

Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand, Zoë sat up, the bed creaking at her shifting weight. It sounded loud against the death of silence. From the sounds of things, or rather lack thereof, Zoë was certain that her father was not home yet. 'Is he still at work? Or perhaps, at the hospital with mom?' She shook her head aimlessly, trying to gain back some consciousness, her black locks flying every where as her head still ached from the conflicting thoughts a few hours before.

'I wonder if he is gone yet... ' Even at this slightest thought, it brought her indescribable pain within her chest. She sighed in frustration and punched the poor, innocent pillow that she was cradling on her lap.

A knock issued in the breakable stillness; Zoë froze. A second later, she was thinking in turbo speed, 'could it be the front door? Dad? No, the sound was too near to be downstairs. My door? Someone was standing outside, watching me? Simon?' All at once, the contemplation of able to see into his dark eyes once again intrigued her to ignore the danger that might lurked behind her door as she slowly, and gingerly approached, her hand shaking a little as she reached for the metal door knob.

She yanked the door open and what meet her eyes was...

Total darkness.

She sighed, her heart still thumping hard against her chest, paining her.

'How could it be?' she almost laughed at her stupid thoughts, but instead, she grieved because of them, 'what are you thinking, Zoë?' She shut the door tentatively behind her back as she made her way towards the bed.

Except she never made it.

Standing behind her like a silhouette, a tall figure, motionless like a statue, suddenly sprang into life; he took one step forward and embraced her from behind.

Everything was stilled at that moment.

His embrace tightened around her waist, but not strong enough to hurt her; it was just enough to let her know that he was here and he cared. The warm scent of her shot up through his sensitive nostril and was reminded once more how he was somehow addicted to her natural fragrance, to her warmth, to her presence in only a short period of less than a week.

He had to admit: it was strange for him to feel this way – the need to attach to a human. He never had that problem before. On the other hand, this new feeling terrified him. 'Yes, 'terrify' would be a good word for it,' he thought, closing his eyes to relish the trembling in his strong arms. The trembling was not from fear, but from his sole existence, exclusively for him alone.

He couldn't help it but he let a slight smirk plaster on his lips; he thanked the darkness for veiling everything, well, almost everything.

"Simon?" her voice shivered as she stayed quite still, and quite content in his arms. She was not sure what this feeling swirling around her heated soul was. 'Is it excitement, because of the fact that Simon is right next to me? Or rather, behind me.' Or was it fear, because he might force her into something she couldn't even imagine?

Zoë stopped her thoughts right there and then. 'He would never do that.'

"What is it, Zoë?" his voice was as deep and silky as ever. She thought she could just drown herself right there in his arms and not give a shit about it. She could; but she controlled herself, like she was supposed to. Then the real question came out – the question that had led him here in the first place, "why didn't you come?"

He added, "I was worried."

It would've been quite a sweet thing to say if the situation hadn't been so... well, tense, at least, on Zoë's part. She glanced at the digital clock that sat on her bedside table; it read 3:37 in the morning. "I..." she didn't know how to start, or whether she should start at all.

"You didn't plan on coming to the park tonight, at all, did you, Zoë?" his hold on her waist loosened and his voice was suddenly void of any emotions. Zoë couldn't tell which the real Simon was anymore; is he the cold, hungry, child of the night, or is he just a gentle, but lost boy who needs company? These questions all muddled together and it was starting to give her a headache all over again. "Why?" There was no word to describe the agony that was significantly gaining in his non beating heart as he voiced out his question.

Zoë took a small step away from the figure that just held on to her so tightly, like a life line; she turned to face him, her cheeks heating up as she imagined what she should, and would, say. She tried not to look into his eyes, those black, liquid orbs like cold marble that could send warmth that seeped into her soul but she failed miserably.

Like all those times they met, she lost into his wondering irises, dark and mystifying.

"Do you really want to know why, Simon?" she knew the answer but she asked him anyway; she was afraid of her own reply.

"Yes." Her eyes were all over his.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispered, almost too soft for Simon to hear but with his acute hearing, there was no escaping, "I know this is selfish of me and I know after avenging your parents' death, there should be nothing to tie you down on this earth any longer. I understand all that! But... it's just..." She could no longer continue; she hated herself so much this instant she wished she could just disappear.

Warm fingers caressed her cheek, brushing her tear streaks that now fell down from her eyes. 'This is all an illusion,' she told herself, 'there was no real warmth in his body. He's dead! He's suppose to be dead years ago! We shouldn't even have this conversation right now, or any other, in fact.' She was telling herself this but her body was betraying her; her heart and soul were both betraying her.

"I'm sorry," her voice cracked from the tears, "I shouldn't be saying all this but it just rushed out and I can't stop it." She pushed his caring hand away, not harshly, and brushed the tears with the back of her hands; tear stains glistened on her glowing skin. "You can just ignore what I've said and move on," she continued more calmly, "go on, don't let me stop you. I've just said some bullshit so don't let those meaningless words stop you."

"They're not meaningless, and they're certainly not, as you put it, 'bullshit'," Simon said, stepped up to close the distance between he and the girl again. All this time, Zoë had lowered her head, unable to meet his gaze. Now as she looked up again, all she could see in his eyes was gentleness and... Could it be... understanding?

"I know what you're trying to tell me, Zoë, and I appreciate that," Simon told her kindly; he put his hands on both her shoulders and continued, "the reason that I asked you to come out earlier. Do you wish to know what it is?"

"You have to leave, don't you?" Zoë asked, "that was what you were planning to tell me, wasn't it?" Simon shook his head, his silver locks glistened as the moon's pastel beams hit them at a right angle.

"The truth is," Simon began, his palms began to sweat and he seriously wondered why – why he was nervous to admit the truth, "I want to tell you that I cannot leave, not willingly anyway, and I don't wish to leave because there is something else I haven't done yet."

"Which is...?" she was curious, as well as happy that he wasn't leaving yet. Somehow, that fact relieved her sorrow by the smallest amount.

"I need to tell you that I..." he was staring into her gray irises, staring right into her and through her, "I am in love with you."

Meeko: Woah! Intense. Yes? No? Tell me! Now! Thanks.


	2. Stay?

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Meeko Melodie**

Meeko: Yay! I got reviews and I'm happy! By the way, Happy New Year, minna! Although I can't finish this story by Christmas like I had intended to. Oh well. That's life for ya!

DISCLAIMER: The Silver Kiss does not belong to me, though I wish I could own it so that I could revive Simon or just make him not die in the first place.

--

From Last Chapter: 

"I need to tell you that I..." he was staring into her gray irises, staring right into her and through her, "I am in love with you."

Chapter Two: 

Did she hear him right? Did he just say what she thought he said?

"E... excuse me?" her voice was suddenly distant; it just seemed unreal. This couldn't be right; yes, she had dreamed, she knew it was wrong to, yet, she had indeed dreamed of this since the day she looked into his eyes, like a mystery that Zoë wanted to uncover herself. But when it came down to this, the particles surrounding her being were all very dream-like, faint and hazy.

Simon knew she had heard him clearly simply by looking at her reaction – a mix of surprise and disbelief. Well, he would soon wash away this doubt on her face once he was done with her.

"Would you like me to repeat what I just said?" Simon asked breathily, his arms, instead of staying at his side like he had intended, had snaked sneakily around her waist and behind her back, securing their close distance; once again, Zoë's breaths were cut short by this sudden action as Simon continued, "or would you like me to show you what I meant?"

"I don't know." Was it just him or did Simon hear a bit of playfulness in her soft tone? It was still all too dark to see a clear expression on her face. Plus, she had lowered her head towards the ground again after his confession, as if there was something awfully interesting on the hard floor right beneath her; her long, raven-tinted bangs masked her eyes entirely. However, he was none-the-less more comfortable in this atmosphere – concealing; somehow, he felt... how would one say it?

'Safer,' Simon decided as the right word popped into his mind.

He released one of his arms around her waist while his remaining arm stayed fixed, and with his raised hand, he cupped the side of her flushed cheek, which was almost too warm for his touch; from there, a heat sensation ran down from the tip of his finger and through his whole circulation. He tipped her head up gently, his dark eyes meeting her gray gaze.

That gray was a glittering, quizzical shade.

"Zoë Sutcliff," he breathed out her name, the syllables sweet against his tongue. He leaned down, and the hand that had been caressing her cheek had run itself to the back of her neck to lightly support her head. It all came down to this. His lips touched hers softly, not wanting to scare her off with something too immense; one touch, just one, light touch of her lips and he swore to God he had totally lost it. On the other hand, Zoë was, although enjoying the moment, at the same time, thinking, contemplating, and arguing in her own mind.

'God-damn-it,' she screamed, while she placed her arms awkwardly on his shoulders then noticed how nicely she seemed to fit in his embrace, 'oh, snap out of it, Sutcliff! For crying out loud, you're kissing a vampire! You know, the ones that bite and drink blood?' But however hard she tried, that voice inside her head, strong and loud at first, was slowly ascending as the seconds ticked by.

By some means, without the heated couple noticing, Simon had backed themselves against the nearest wall, both his hands propping on the smooth wall on either side of her head. They were both becoming breathless, restless. It was Zoë who pushed Simon away.

Breathing rather heavily, she asked in a would-be-shocked-but-somehow-got-over-it voice, "what does this mean?"

"What do you think it means, Zoë?" he held a small grin, knowing fairly well that his question that was supposed to answer her question would bring at least some annoyance. Not this time, though.

Zoë's expression displayed thoughtfulness. Seriousness, even. She leaned against the cold wall; its iciness seeped into the thin fabric of her shirt and she shivered but she was sure the shiver did not originate only from the coldness of the wall, but also from the gaze that Simon was giving towards her – a tender, caring phase that she could not imagine Simon could possess.

She knew, from the sensation of a trail of warm fire traveling to the pit of her stomach, she knew she would surrender anything just to make him stay. And now, was he suggesting that he would, indeed, stay for her sake? This was almost too much.

"Are you saying that...?" her question was interrupted when Simon nodded in confirmation to her unfinished question.

"But wouldn't you...?" again, she was interrupted before she could finish her question; not that she had minded, of course.

"Yes, I would still be living a half-life," his voice was so quiet, so lifeless that his tone alone sent shivers to her spine but she straightened up herself, "but I don't care.

"To tell you the truth, I've never felt so strongly attracted to a human before," he admitted, taking a step back, "human, to me, is just food. No one associates with their food, right? But when I saw you..." He stopped, taking a good long look at the young girl standing in front of him, so fragile, so gentle, loving and warm. He stretched out a single arm, his fingers unfolded as he wished to touch her cheek again, but thought better of it and stopped in mid air.

"But when I saw you," he started again, retracting his outstretched arm back to his side, "we understand each other almost instantly. You are not scared of me, like all those other people are when they know what I am. Can you define almost two hundred years of loneliness, of not communicating with people, let alone befriend one? That's how it had always been for me and I didn't expect anything more or less as I live this undead life of mine." He stopped short when he felt her timid, warm hand tenderly touching his cheek, as if to reassure him that everything would be all right; in fact, that was the reason of Zoë doing that, hiding her shy blush that were starting to tint her cheeks in the dark.

"Where will you go now?" she asked, afraid to know the answer but found that she desperately needed to know, "will you..."

She gulped silently, "...leave now that you have said what you have come here to say?" Zoë said all this really fast, almost tripping over her own words but managed to make the question understandable.

"Do you want me to leave?" Simon fired his answer back so neatly Zoë couldn't comprehend him for a short second. Then it sank in.

"Are you kidding me?" she was close to smiling now, feeling relieve took place in her heart, and nameless sentiment of joy.

"I thought so."

Meeko: Sorry this is coming out so short. I promise longer chapters next time, okay? So please, don't kill me and give me comments!


	3. Meet the Parent

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Meeko Melodie**

Meeko: Thank you so much again for the comments! They're awesome so here's your update!

DISCLAIMER: How many times should I say this? No, don't own the book.

--

From Last Chapter: 

"Do you want me to leave?" Simon fired his answer back so neatly Zoë couldn't comprehend him for a short second. Then it sank in.

"Are you kidding me?" she was close to smiling now, feeling relieve took place in her heart, and nameless sentiment of joy.

"I thought so."

Chapter Three: Meet the Parent

She wondered if this was all just a really good dream or was it really the real thing. But if this was, indeed, a dream, she wished she would never have to wake up. But at the same time, she wished she would wake up as if this was some kind of horrible nightmare; her guess was: this was the moment when dream and nightmare somewhat got mixed together and there she was.

That was somewhat confusing, no kidding. Even in her own mind, she was starting to grow a headache. What the heck, why think about this when it was already arranged?

'Okay, it couldn't be that bad,' Zoë decided in her brain as the door bell rang; she glanced at the clock that hung humbly on the wall in her living room, which read 8:50. Ten minutes early. 'Good.'

"I'll go get the door," she volunteered when she saw her father rose from the sofa nearby her, placing the stack of newspaper he had been reading. Who knew if he was actually taking in the content as the hour drew near?

"I'll come with you," Mr. Sutcliff replied, following loosely behind his daughter to the door. He would love to see this 'special someone' personally; he really should.

'Damn.'

"Sure," she smiled lightly and looked through the small gap of the door to check if it was him. And certain enough, there he was, in his standing glory, even if it was only a one-second glance through the thin opening of the door. She snapped the wooden door close again, her breaths on the short side and heart pounding against her chest while she took off the chain lock. Even with the door in between them, Zoë could feel this intense emotion just with a slight glance at him, or just the cognition knowing he was near her, on the opposite side divided by this thin barrier.

With a bright smile, a true one, Zoë opened the door fully, letting her eyes wandered on his beautiful face freely.

"Hey," he said, his lips tucked into a polite smile, as if he knew not far behind the girl stood her father, who was watching him closely with his curious eyes.

Just with a single greeting, so simple, he could caught her off guard still with that velvet, deep voice of his.

'I'm pathetic,' she concluded, laughing inwardly.

"Come on in," Zoë invited him and into the light he stepped through the doorway. The bright lights of the household blinded him a millisecond, then he could see again. Zoë noticed that he had discarded the black leather jacket he used to wear but had replaced it with something more elegant and less gang-like – just a simple black button down shirt with the top two buttons unfastened, showing pale flesh just below his throat. The sleeves were loose and unbuttoned as well, which complimented his casual approach at the same time.

The picture of him beneath that damn shirt was starting to get to Zoë as she cursed her brain for those annoying, hormone-driven thoughts; never the less, her cheeks had involuntarily flamed, if only just slightly.

She cleared her throat and started the, if she must admit, quite embarrassed introduction, "dad, this is Simon and Simon, this is my father."

"Hello, Mr. Sutcliff," he said easily, holding out his hand and Harry Sutcliff took it without losing a beat, simply nodding without expression what so ever.

'Now what?' she wondered. She had never had a date before, ever. So, what do people do when their boyfriends finish meeting their parents? Ah, who knows? She decided to go with her instinct, or in other words: she was going to go with the flow. But before she could open her mouth, someone had already beaten her to it.

"Are we going to stand here all night? Or are we going to sit down and talk?" her father raised his eyebrow, causing Zoë to moan quietly in protest.

"But dad, we're in a hurry," she insisted at her father's retreating back.

"No harm in chatting with your boyfriend for a few minutes," he commented dryly, "I believe I've never seen you before, Simon. I just want to know him more. I'm sure Simon wouldn't mind, would you?" He turned around to look at the tall, lean boy, who was still standing near the door.

"Of course not, Mr. Sutcliff," he shrugged carelessly and when Harry Sutcliff turned his back to them once again, Simon gave Zoë a light grin – one that seemed to display amusement. Zoë sighed and motioned the silver-haired young man to follow him into the living room, where it reminded Zoë once again the time they had talked not so long ago.

That seemed decades ago, she realized with silent shock.

As everyone took their seats comfortably in the deadly still chamber, with Zoë sitting on one end of the long sofa and Simon at the other end while Mr. Sutcliff sat at his usual armchair adjacent to them, no one seemed willing to start the conversation.

'Why did I think it was a good idea to invite Simon over again?' she wanted to scream.

"How did you two met anyway?" the father started the conversation lightly, as if trying to ease out the tenseness that everyone in the room was apparently feeling; okay, maybe not everyone.

"At the park."

"At school."

Mr. Sutcliff raised his eyebrows in a suspicious, if-you-don't-tell-me-the-truth-I-will-know-it-and-you'll-be-sorry kind of manner. Zoë gulped; Simon glanced over at her.

"Well, we actually go to the same school," Zoë explained slowly, trying to make some sense into the story, and some convincing... well, if she must confess, lies, "we don't talk much in school because we don't have many classes together. But we started to get to know each other, in the park, while talking the other night." Anyway, at least that part was true.

"Yeah." He wasn't all set to lie. All right, keeping his identity hidden might be one of those but outright lying in front of his girlfriend's dad was just wrong. But it seemed like Zoë had some other ideas; she wasn't ready to tell her father her boyfriend was actually a vampire born roughly three hundred years ago.

No, that would not invoke a good reaction, not at all.

"Dad, can we please go?" Zoë was just plain anxious at the moment and her expression displayed it all. Through Simon's faintly amused irises, he could sense the stress radiating off of her body, literally; it was not only that but she really appeared to be nervous at the simple fact that her father and he were sitting in the same room.

He wondered what that meant.

"All right," he sighed, defeated at last, or maybe he had just given up: his little girl was growing up. He just had to accept this fact. His wife was already leaving him behind and now his daughter was abandoning him, in a way anyway, as well. However, there was no way to stop it.

This was life.

"Promise you'll bring her back by twelve?" he was aiming this directly at Simon, who nodded firmly and standing up, he offered his hand for Zoë to grab onto while helping herself off the comfy seat.

"Thanks," she muttered.

"See you later, dad."

"Good night, Mr. Sutcliff," Simon said on the way passing his seat out to the hallway with Zoë walking a little before him, "it's nice to finally meet you."

"Same here," he replied, somewhat gruffly. And before he could think of something to say, he heard the front door clicked and all was silent in the household once again.

"What did that boy mean, 'finally'?" he suddenly wondered.

Useless thoughts.

He really should make some noise in the house. Perhaps some radio would do the trick.

---x-----X-----x---

"Why did you tell your father that?" was the first question coming out of his mouth before he was conscious of it; damn that mouth of his. Besides, what he meant to say at first was... well, didn't matter much right now, did it?

"What do you mean by 'that'?" Zoë was walking a few steps in front of him, seemingly oblivious to the serious tone of his voice. Hurrying in a few strides to catch up to her, Simon took her wrist from behind and skillfully spin her around to face him.

"Hey, what was that for?" she exclaimed, eyes widened with her body gently bumping onto his hard, tensed muscles beneath the thin layer of shirt; it was no use swearing inside her head because she knew the heat was slowly coming, betraying her as they crept ever so quickly to her cheeks. She thought she would faint from the warmth.

"By 'that', I mean the piece of information you put in about me having first met you in school," he ignored her wriggling and only held her closer, not tightly but just enough strength to keep her there, in his solid embrace, "for starters, I don't even go to school, at least, not for a long while now."

"But if dad knows I met you from outside, he may not let me go out with you," she tried to talk her way around, sensing the edginess of his usually mild tone, "I didn't know you would mind." She lowered her head, not meeting the gaze that Simon was sending her – a look of something between curiosity and wonder.

"I don't," he replied, his hold on her loosened a little and his voice, a tiny bit softer, "it's just, I didn't understand why..."

"Well, I just told you the reason," she murmured, still looking down between them.

"I know," with that, he tipped her head upwards and almost as her silvery, grey eyes met his instantly, he lowered his head and caught her in a feverish kiss that was nothing she had experienced before. It wasn't anything light and there was nothing gentle about it but she rather liked the new sensation that now shot through her veins and spine, like a roller coaster crashing down, hot and fast. Trying to quiet down her sighing noises but failing miserably to do so, she placed her hands on his torso instead, not exactly caring if it was right in the middle of the pedestrian road.

Not that many people walked out at this hour anyway. It was the beginning of November and the street was quite empty, with a few lonely, dry leaves racing noisily on the concrete roads, chasing each other as an occasional car would drive by. Cool, bitter autumn breeze waltzed around the couple, teasing their exposed skin and flowing hair but they didn't take any notice of the surrounding.

All they felt was each other's warmth.

"That was really rude, you know?" Zoë finally managed to pull away, breathes shortened in little puffs of visible air as she panted vaguely.

"How so?" Simon wanted to know, his lips were tucked into a tiny smirk.

"We were just talking and then suddenly, you decided to kiss me out of the blue, now what do you call that?" she demanded in mock annoyance but her eyes were sparkling with silent laughter.

"I apologize, my lady," he bowed mockingly, "next time, I will try to warn you. But it is a hard thing." He straightened himself again, his hair falling into his eyes but he carelessly combed through his locks with his spare hand again.

"And why is that?" she asked, raising her eyebrows questioningly, as if daring him to tell the truth.

"I don't know," Simon shrugged, acting unconcerned, "maybe it's because you're looking so..." He glanced upwards, like he was studying the patterns of the stars that hung above their heads, so bright, yet out of reach.

"Yes?"

"Never mind," he grinned; he knew this would get to her. And he was right.

"Tell me, right now!" she demanded, this time with a little real force as she grabbed his single arm, "Simon..." She growled warningly, her eyes glowering. He laughed whole-heartedly, that melodic laughter echoing wonderfully in her ears and her anger lowered almost immediately. 'This is insane,' Zoë was telling herself.

"Come," Simon offered, holding out his arm once more in a tender manner, inviting her to take his hand without another word, "let us go."

"I will not move until you tell me what you were about to say," she answered heatedly, and inside herself, she had no idea why she was being so hard, 'well, a little flirtation never hurt.' A little evil voice in her head claimed.

"All right then, if you really must know," Simon sighed, pretending to give up with his hands rising in front of him like a shield "I just wanted to say that you look very... tempting tonight."

'Or any other nights,' he added that in his head.

"Tempting...?" she repeated blankly and as the meaning of the word sank into her skull at last, she had a hard time controlling that blush that was struggling to come out to surface on her cheeks. Too late. Half a second later, her cheeks were blazing and she was sure as hell that Simon could see it with his acute sense of sight; with that fact remind in her brain, that blush tinted even harder than before, making her feel like she would burn and melt.

'What is wrong with me?'

"Yes, now can we please get going?" he wasn't an impatient being but having just told his first ever girlfriend, and a human one at that (not that he had met any female vampire before, at least, not yet), that she was irresistible. But then again, that word could take both meanings, but he was thinking about the 'attractive' definition, not the... well, definitely not the 'edible' one.

He really ought to stop his trail of thoughts, for the contemplation of the sweet liquid that ran through Zoë's body reminded him that he had almost betrayed his heart and follow that vampire instincts of his that he hated to damn much. Ironically, it was also the fact that he was immortal, to a certain degree anyway, that gave him a chance to experience this peculiar feeling of... would one define this emotion as love?

He wasn't sure. But he was about to find out.

Meeko: Sorry again about the late update. I try, I really did. And I made it a bit longer than usual to make it up. Hopefully, this is good enough. Your comments, please!


	4. Ride to the Official Date

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Ryuko Ishida**

Ryuko: I know I've been abandoning this story. I'm so, so, so sorry! It's just that, I've been having a huge writer's block which I couldn't get rid of, and then there were the exams and blah blah blah. But now that all the hectic is over (since I graduated high school and all -) and summer is here, I'll, hopefully, have more time to update this story. And of course, thank you to those who took time, as little as they may be, to comment and read this story. A big, hearty thank you!

DISCLAIMER: I wish.

x-----X-----x

From Last Chapter: 

He really ought to stop his trail of thoughts, for the contemplation of the sweet liquid that ran through Zoë's body reminded him that he had almost betrayed his heart and follow that vampire instincts of his that he hated so damn much. Ironically, it was also the fact that he was immortal, to a certain degree anyway, that gave him a chance to experience this peculiar feeling of... would one define this emotion as love?

He wasn't sure. But he was about to find out.

x-----X-----x

Chapter Four: Ride to the Official Date

"So are you ever going to tell me where we're going?" she questioned him, swinging her arm playfully with which Simon's hand was holding hers in a firm grasp.

"You'll know when we get there," Simon told her, a secretive smile lingering on his lips.

"Fine," he turned his head just to catch Zoë pouting and he couldn't help but chuckled. It was hard to believe, as he removed his eyes away from his companion and relocated them to the front, that after three centuries – three hundred long, endless years – of being alone, of being under the shadows, he was at his current state – still living a half live but now with someone who was willing to accept who he was, or rather, _what_ he was.

Tonight was just like any other normal November nights to anyone – the rough breeze, the racing leaves along the sidewalks, the clear night where random constellation patterns shone bright, competing with the artificial stars within the city. The night was just like any other ones Simon had traveled through too long ago for him to remember precisely, so why did his insides felt so warm, so comforting and so... so complete?

'No... no,' he corrected himself, his liquid onyx-toned orbs hardened as this thought drifted itself into his mind, 'this... this life will not be complete unless...' He couldn't make himself to think like that! Not after Zoë had accepted him. Not after she had trusted him with her life. After all, she was, to a degree, risking her life in order to be with him, as much as Simon wanted to deny the raw fact. He was endangering her by being with her, and yet, he wanted nothing more than to protect this girl, this human.

It was ironic; he even had to admit this much to himself when he was alone these past few weeks after their meeting at the park and growing encounters they shared after that first startled acquaintance. But what was the use of thinking about it right now?

'Useless.'

They could still turn around, of course. He could, but he was a selfish creature. At least, that was how he began to judge himself after he had decided he would stay behind, if only for Zoë's sake. He craved for her company and this longing almost became an obsession. Now, not only her sweet blood that was calling out to him – it was no longer the pure desire for her blood that drove him towards her – but her thoughts, her every action, and simply her presence seemed to be screaming for his attention as well.

But he could, if he tried hard enough to lock her out of his so-called life forever, went back to the way it was before he met her. Everything, then, would become normal once more. The solitude, the isolation, the pathetic attempt of blending in with the humans that surrounded him each moment – all of these aspects of his life, his normal, natural life would be restored. But he knew it could never be the same again.

And what would happen to Zoë then – if he decided to leave after all? 'She would probably go back to her normal life, of course.' Simon envied humans in that manner: how they changed every second, how easily they could forget...

'But she wouldn't... would she?'

"Simon..." And now a voice was calling to him, but it was blurry so he wasn't sure. But he could recognized this voice anywhere.

"Simon!" He snapped out of his wandering thoughts, internally cursing himself for ever having them in the first place.

"Yeah?" He gave her a weak smile to cover up his dark thoughts, all the while looking into her light eyes to assure her everything was fine. Zoë seemed to believe him and told him with a lopsided grin, "Unless you want to stand in the cold for another half hour, I suggest we get into the bus." She nodded her head pointedly towards the public transit stopping before them as the automatic doors swung open, awaiting for their entrance.

"Right," he pulled her along gently and the bus jerked forward as soon as they were both inside.

"Are you alright?" Zoë asked with slight worry in her voice after the two pay their bus fare and hunted two seats. "You seemed so... I don't know... distant tonight. Is something bothering you?"

"Don't worry about it," Simon didn't want their first official date to be all about him and his silly problems. In any case, they were his problems; Zoë shouldn't be weight down by them, especially after she had just went through the violent-vampire-sibling-killing-business not quite one week ago.

"I know what I saw," she was on to him, wasn't she? Well, she was definitely persistent; Simon wouldn't hold a doubt about that. But maybe, just maybe, this was one of her many features that he found himself drawing closer and closer to her each passing moment. "Or do you not trust me enough with your thoughts?"

"How can you say that?" His voice was, he knew as this stung him, rather harsh, but – 'how could she think that?' It had only been an innocent, insignificant statement on Zoë's part, and she hid her face in fear of his suddenly raised voice. On the other hand, though, Simon just couldn't hide his shock. He looked down to meet her eyes – if her long, ebony tresses weren't in his way, blocking her face, and her expression – since she had leaned her head against his shoulder during the beginning of the ride with her arms lightly encircling his waist to steady herself.

"Then tell me, Simon," her voice was tiny as she glanced back up again, this time, with a small flame of determination in her silvery irises that won't rest until her question had been answered. She removed one of her arms from his waist and instead, it moved up, her nimble, slightly shivering fingers passing the soft material of his shirt, which would occasionally come in contact with his skin and she placed that hand on his neck, cold and smooth as marble. She inclined toward his ear.

"Tell me what you're thinking." It was an inaudible whisper, but he could catch each and every word perfectly as if they were spoken from a normal level of voice. Her warm breaths tickled his contrastingly cold skin, and he shuddered subconsciously, though enjoying her sweet breaths all the same. Simon swallowed hard and tried to contain his non-existent heartbeat to a lower rate.

"Are you luring me into telling you my thoughts, Miss Sutcliff?" The Zoë Sutcliff Simon had known for the past few weeks had always been a quiet, somewhat shy girl who would blush hard any time Simon had a chance to make it happen. But this – this was quite new to him, and to say the truth, it was literally driving him crazy. And crazy enough, he liked that new feeling.

Hearing his suggestive question, she was, without a surprise, blushing a light tone on her cheeks. But then again, Simon didn't need to know that. She kept her face hidden from his sight.

"Maybe..." she murmured softly as her hand that was situated on his slender neck began to rub itself gently against the icy skin. She might be hesitant in showing this new side of her, but she wasn't dumb either. She knew she had... well, that was to say, 'female charms', and even though she appeared to be uncertain in using this method, she was absolutely unafraid to use this 'charm' where Simon was concerned. Besides, Zoë was pretty sure that a health dose of flirting never hurt.

"I guess you've won this round," he chuckled pleasantly, and at the same time, trying hard to restrain a moan that he wanted to let out from her intimate touches. "But as much as I would like to share my dark secrets with you, I want to inform you that we've just missed our stop."

"Damn," she sat up abruptly, "it's not working on you, is it – this flirting thing?"

"What are you talking about?" Simon kissed her forehead softly with his own amused smile, "it was working perfectly well. Maybe you should try it more often." Then holding her small, warm hand in his, he brought themselves up and when the bus finally stood still for the next stop, they walked out into the cold once more.

"So where are we going?" Zoë was now using, what Simon had personally labeled, the whiny child method, in addition to the cute, puppy dog eyes. Did anyone mention to her that Simon was almost always indestructible when it came to trying to annoy him with high-pitched, spoiled child tone, or to break him down with those said cute puppy dog eyes? Probably not.

"Like I've said before: you'll know when we get there," Simon shook his head mockingly. "Oh look, there you go: we're here." They had stopped in front of...

x-----X-----x

Ryuko: -gasp- And where did they stop at? I know; stupid cliff-hanger. Plus, it's short. But please don't kill me. I just had to separate this chapter into two so the next one will be slightly longer and I'll post it soon, okay? In the mean time, comment!


	5. Official Date

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Ryuko Ishida**

Ryuko: I've finally updated after 2 months of nothing. I'm SO sorry! I just couldn't find time in HK (with the stupid summer job and all that); plus, the internet at my grandparents place was slow and I have absolutely no patience for it. Okay, yes. They were excuses but still! This chapter is long... It should make up for the 2 month long absence, right? Right? And thank you for those who had reviewed!! You guys are awesome!

DISCLAIMER: Don't own a thing. Nope.

x-----X-----x

From Last Chapter: 

"So where are we going?" Zoë was now using, what Simon had personally labeled, the whiny child method, in addition to the cute, puppy dog eyes. Did anyone mention to her that Simon was almost always indestructible when it came to trying to annoy him with high-pitched, spoiled child tone, or to break him down with those said cute puppy dog eyes? Probably not.

"Like I've said before: you'll know when we get there," Simon shook his head mockingly. "Oh look, there you go: we're here." They had stopped in front of...

x-----X-----x

Chapter Five: Official Date

"Simon, please tell me you're joking." The male looked over at her with a curious glint that seemed to be asking her what was wrong with the location. She sighed with exaggerated desperation, and hey, why not?

"You're taking me to a bar, and just so you know, I'm underage," Zoë told him even though she was sure he knew; she added after a second with a frown, "come to think of it, so are you." The silver-haired male just raised one of his eyebrows, showing an imitation of an 'excuse-me?' expression.

She let out a breath, "I know you're actually roughly around three hundred years old and all that. But seriously, you don't look that old to other people. Plus, I don't know if anyone had mentioned this, but this is our first date."

"I know," Simon nodded seriously, "that's why I want to take you here."

"A first date involving alcohol never ends well, just so you know," Zoë randomly commented with a roll of her eyes.

"My dear, dear Zoë," Simon patted her head like she was a three-year-old child instead of a seventeen year old girl and explained to her patiently, "a bar is not only a place for drinking and making out. Haven't you heard of the old saying, 'don't judge a book by its cover'? Or in this case, it would be 'don't judge a place by its appearance.'"

"Funny coming from you," she mused. But once again, her one innocent comment had set him off.

"What do you mean?" He wasn't exactly freaking out, for crying out loud; he wasn't that emotionally-sensitive. But he sure got serious as hell, as Zoë had witnessed. However, she decided it was best to ignore him at this point and dragged him towards the entrance, though it was probably the last thing on her to-do list – the strolling-into-alcohol-selling-place matter – that was.

Inside the bar, Zoë found out that it was surprisingly warm, not to mention cozy. Yes, 'cozy' was a word she would use to describe this place she had labeled a 'bar' earlier. The whole area was quite small, and the wooden planked floors were rather noisy as they stepped in at first, but the small, framed paintings of random shapes and angles that decorated the walls lightened up the whole room. Sources of lights were not many – there were the ancient yellow ones that brightened up the dark corners and then there were the blue ones that kept rotating around what appeared to be a small dance floor in the middle. Looking up at the low ceiling, she saw with delight that there were two huge, antique-looking fans that were revolving slowly and somewhat creakily but the music playing in the stereo washed over the nasty sounds.

She would've mistaken this place as an old-fashioned café if it wasn't for the actual bar and stools that were stacked to one side of the wall, with colorful bottles of wine and different flavor of alcohol on the continual shelves that stretched from the end of the room to the next. Scattered around tastefully were various sizes of tables and chairs surrounding the dance floor.

Few people were there as they strolled in, cautiously on Zoë's part, and amused on Simon's part. Two men wearing business suits were sitting on the stools and seemed to be engaged in a deep conversation. The bartender was cleaning the tall glasses that were especially for martinis. A group of teenagers, maybe slightly older than Zoë herself, were chatting noisily and were having a great time. But other than that, the bar was pretty much vacant.

Zoë chose a spot at the edge of the dance floor and just as she was about to pull the chair out to have a seat, Simon was quicker and was already by her side, pulling the chair for her. With an easy smile, she sat down and whispered a 'thanks'. As the both of them settled comfortably on their seats, the bartender who was cleaning the glasses earlier appeared with a polite smile on his young face. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five.

"Good evening. And how are... Hey, Simon! Fancy seeing you here," the young man exclaimed in surprise.

"Jesse," he nodded his greeting, but he was grinning with easiness as he recognized who it was.

"Where were you these days?" Jesse asked, "Haven't seen you around over there for so long. Those girls missed you, apparently." He gave his friend a knowing grin. When Simon shot him a Look, however, he immediately got the message, and finally remembered the female, who was sitting on the other side with a strangely blank look on her face.

"Sorry, my bad!" He laughed. Then knowing he better changed the subject, he asked, "Is this your girlfriend?" He gave Zoë a friendly smile, of which she shyly returned.

"Yeah," he held her hand as if to emphasize his point, "so don't come near her. You know that will not be a smart decision."

"Right," Jesse said, "so what would the two lovebirds like today?" Zoe blushed lightly at the little nickname but said nothing.

"An apple cider for the lady, and I'll have a beer."

"Will do." Jesse briskly walked away.

"Simon," she muttered his name in a not so friendly manner with a glare.

"What?" he smiled innocently. "Don't worry. The cider only contained two percent alcohol; you're not even going to be able to taste it."

"Oh great," Zoë rolled her eyes, "now my boyfriend is trying to make me become an alcoholic." But that wasn't even the point. Simon's eyes only displayed pure amusement.

"And mind telling me where 'over there' is? I'm missing something that you're not telling me, am I?" She raised her eye to the same level as his. He should've expected that, right after Jesse had mentioned the whole thing.

"If you really must know," Simon told her, "by all means, I actually met Jesse in another bar and became kind of acquainted with him. Anyway, it's just a place I used to hang out. Well, that was before I met you. That place is louder though, and dirty, and smoky, and lots of drunks..."

"Okay," she put up her hand to stop his on-going list, "I think I get your point." The couple seized their talking for a moment as Jesse brought their drinks respectively to their owners. When he turned and walked away to take order from a group that just came in, Zoë was back at her glaring mode. Before she could say anything, though, she watched, first with surprise, then with wonder, as Simon tilted the sweating bottle casually as if drinking a beer or two was what he did every two days.

'Which is probably the case,' she concluded in her mind, mentally shaking her head with disapproval. He placed down his bottle, the glass clanking delicately as it hit the table and Simon glanced back at the girl sitting stiffly before him.

"Are you going to drink that?" He eyed the transparent glass, which was filled with a champagne-toned, bubbling liquid that had a heavenly smell of autumn crisp apple drifting. After Zoë gave him a 'don't-you-dare-try-to-change-topic-I'm-not-quite-done-with-you-yet' look, she took a small sip and at the sweet and fresh taste of the drink, a corner of her lips was trying hard not to curl upwards.

"You like it?" He took another swig of his beer but sighed at her stubborn expression. "All right, what else would you like to know?"

"Those girls that Jesse mentioned earlier," Simon flinched at the obvious acidity and disgust in her not-so-well contained voice, "are they...?"

"What do you take me for?" he demanded, though his tone never rose higher than his normal one, "Do you think I'm those kinds of people who would screw around with strangers, get them on bed and then disappear the next morning?" He would never imagined his first date with a girl, especially with the one he found himself liking, perhaps even loving, so much, could turn out to be... well, like this. This wasn't exactly what one would call a sweet, romantic date, would it?

Heaving a distracted sigh, Simon ran his hand through his silvery locks impatiently; his dark eyes were no where near her piercing ones, which then seemed to have softened after his outburst.

"Look," he refocused his gaze onto Zoë once more as he began to calm down with a firm facial expression on his pale features, "those girls... they meant nothing to me, all right? They're merely... oh God, how would one describe this? Okay, to me, they are just food."

He noticed the change of aspect on Zoë's face, and quickly added, "I didn't kill them, if that's what you're speculating. I just lure them in, put them in a trance and then drink..." he faltered, "but I always leave behind enough for them to wake up before dawn. I swear." His face was so faultless, so beautifully serious, but the way he talked of his diet was so casual for him that to Zoë, it was almost hard to believe that they were actually having this conversation.

Not only that, but the image of Simon and another girl getting close physically – with many girls, in fact, more than one – was driving Zoë to a point where she wasn't even thinking clearly. She didn't trust herself to hold in this unnamable pain and anger and not lash it out. She knew forcing that emotion inside could not be the healthiest thing to do. But did she have a choice?

"I'm sorry if my words had offended you in any way," Simon had just noticed, out of the uncontrollable urge, he hadn't been aware of the words he had used, and thought that, due to the emotionless face that Zoë was currently hanging on to, his girlfriend was quite shocked, not to mention, afraid of him. He couldn't have stand that – knowing Zoë feared him in ways that humans had for centuries in his past.

Subconsciously, he caught the droplet of water that slid down his glass bottle and said, "I really don't know how this conversation had taken such a violent turn. This really shouldn't have happen and on our first date, too." He shook his head, his darkened gaze dropped to the table as his metallic-tinted bangs veiled any emotion that might have crossed his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she spoke in such a low voice, but honesty was apparent.

"Let's just drop this topic," he told her and tilted his head to see if she would disagree. From Zoë's hidden eyes by those long tresses, though, he couldn't really tell.

"This turns out to be quite a disaster, huh?" she smiled bitterly to herself, "and it's all thanks to me." With this phrase, she stabbed the bottom of her glass forcefully with the purple straw that was accompanied with her drink. Bubbles started to sizzle upwards, but she hardly noticed, nor would she have cared.

"Now, don't give yourself too much credit," Simon tried to pull her out of the dark mood, mostly caused by his stinging words, he assumed, by replying with a light remark. A silence remained between them, of which Zoë took her opportunity to divert her attention back to her sweet-but-alcoholic drink and Simon staring aimlessly at the beer bottle in his hand.

Fortunately, their awkward silence was quickly broken by another voice – this time, from the tiny dance floor.

"Welcome to Moonflower, ladies and gents," Jesse's cheerful voice filled the warm room as people turned towards his direction; Zoë and Simon did the same, each were secretly glad that there was, at last, something to distract them. After all, tongue-tied silence was not one thing either of them was comfortable with.

"We are fortunate enough to have a beautiful pianist and vocalist with us this evening, as she will be performing some pieces for your enjoyment. Please help me welcome Nicola Cross." The small crowd applauded politely as he handed the microphone to a female who appeared, seemingly, out of the shadows. Zoë didn't know how she had managed to miss it, but there was a mahogany up-right piano at the dark corner of the dance floor, its smooth surface sparkling slightly under the rotating cobalt lights.

"Thanks, Jesse," her voice was surprisingly strong for a young woman her size. She was on the petit side, with straight, short raven locks that were styled so that it gave people a messy but casual feeling, big, silver hoops on her earlobes, a spaghetti-strapped black skirt reached just above her knees hugged her curves at all the right places and she had finished the touch with a pair of simple heels and some light make-up.

"Hey, girls and boys," she said, "can you see me okay? Is there only one of me?" She waited till the laughter died down before she continued with a lingering smile, "Good. Tell you guys what: I'm going to play some stuff that I like, and if any of you have a request, bring right on up. If you want to dance, dance. If you want to barf, barf somewhere else as Jesse will have a hell-time cleaning and getting rid of the disgusting smell." With that being said, she returned to her piano bench with a kind of grace that bar entertainer rarely got, and after placing the microphone onto a stand, she began to play her first song of the night.

The keyboard version of 'Happy Together' consisted of lively staccato notes as Nicola's voice took it away.

With things somewhat settled, Zoë turned back, and saw that Simon was glancing at the pianist with a strange, unnamable expression, then his stare aimed back at her with his sharp, liquid eyes. She quickly lowered her gaze, as if the table patterns were the most fascinating thing in the whole wide world.

"Something is bugging you, Zoë, what is it?"

"Nothing important."

"Zoë."

"It's just that..." she was having difficulty to create words, "I couldn't help but keep thinking about you with all those women whom you've never met..."

"I told you..."

"I know!" She grinded her teeth, hating herself for feeling this way – this irrational jealousy shit that was creeping and gnawing away her trust towards the young man whom she had learned for the last few weeks to rely on, to love. Zoë squeezed her eyes tight, while chanting to herself that she must not let those tears came seeping out from her sealed eye brims.

With unshed tears blurring her sight, she wasn't sure but she could feel Simon's gaze had gone back to the female sitting straight at the piano again. She wasn't worried, of course; she could trust him with anything – even with her life, so what more could she ask for? Yet, these glances – seemingly careless on Simon's part – were not the most comfortable thing to deal with at the moment. Without a word, Simon stood up briskly and walked towards the musician, who had just finished her first round of piano pieces.

Whispering back and forth with quick and silent gestures, the two strangers seemed to have reached an agreement as the silver-haired male gave her a mere nod of appreciation. Just as steadfastly, he came back but didn't return to his seat. At this time, Zoë wanted nothing more than to apologize. For what, she wasn't exactly sure. But the way that her words always looked as if it had poked him at all the wrong places, which was already proven by his distressed tone multiple times tonight, was getting them nowhere. And she didn't want that.

She couldn't allow him to be away from herself again. This single thought alone was unbearable, and when it would truly happen in the future...

'No! Damn it, don't think that, Zoë Sutcliff!' she shouted internally. But the fact that Simon was still here in her presence at this very minute was already something she didn't expect. She would never know that she meant so much to him – as much as he did to her – that Simon was willing to rather spend his so-called life in eternal darkness, as he could never face the daylight without burning to death, than to be apart from her to reach eternal peace in the unknown.

Yet, this was selfish. Zoë understood that from the beginning – the whole time when they were together, when they talked first as strangers, then as confidants, when they fought against Christopher, when she knew that Simon would leave sooner or later after he had taken his revenge for his mother... And she had tried to convince him to see her ways, too. But in the end, he still stayed. This should mean something... right?

This argument had been running wildly in her head ever since Simon had decided to stay. She didn't understand why this question would never leave her alone! After all, this should be proof enough that Simon did love her. She dared to hope. To like her in more than many ways, at least.

She didn't want to have this debate anymore; she was sure she was getting nowhere at this rate and that it would just give her a heavy migraine later on at night when she was alone in her bed. It was useless anyway, to have these never-ending, never seizing thoughts.

"Zoë." She looked up hastily at the soft call of her name.

Simon held out his arm, a glint sparkled off his onyx orbs, "May I?"

x-----X-----x

Ryuko: Comment please!! Thank you. I'll update as soon as I have time... I don't know when that will be since university just started and I'm already a mess!


	6. Untouchable Emotions Revealed

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Ryuko Ishida**

Ryuko: Update (after like what? Two months, I think?)! Whatever! It's an update, so there. I've not abandoned this baby. I'm just busy dealing with university life and... I'll stop my rambling now.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own a thing. Nope.

x-----X-----x

From Last Chapter: 

She didn't want to have this debate anymore; she was sure she was getting nowhere at this rate and that it would just give her a heavy migraine later on at night when she was alone in her bed. It was useless anyway, to have these never-ending, never seizing thoughts.

"Zoë." She looked up hastily at the soft call of her name.

Simon held out his arm, a glint sparkled off his onyx orbs, "May I?"

x-----X-----x

Chapter Six: Untouchable Emotions Revealed

If she had said that she wasn't half bewildered as she had felt at that moment, she would most definitely be lying. Just a few minutes ago, they had been having the most awkward conversation and now, Simon was asking her to... dance? What the hell is going on?

Quizzically, Zoë looked up to meet Simon's gaze, but nothing on his flawless face would tell her the intention of this sudden and rather out-of-place invitation. She wanted to decline – she wasn't sure why but after all her, she would dare say, accusations that she had pressured on him – she would rather have him get mad at her, or ignore her, or had other sensible reactions aiming towards her that didn't involve Simon asking her, so courteously too, to dance.

That was the last thing Zoë had on her muddling mind, to say the least.

And really, could she and did she ever really say 'no' to those eyes that showed nothing but pure plead? Didn't think so.

Slightly hesitant in what she was doing, Zoë held out her hand, shivering a bit despite the warmth of the small room, and let Simon's long pale fingers intertwined with hers as he pulled her up from the seat lightly.

To Zoë's relief, they were not alone on the limited dance floor; two young couples close to her age from the loud group they had observed earlier had gone up to enjoy the flowing rhythm from the piano as well.

Simon, being the bolder one at the moment, placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist; he wanted to hold her close against him, so close as to be able to feel her comforting warmth once again, but he acted against his desire. Instead, he settled with a considerable amount of space in between them – he still wasn't sure what Zoë was thinking at the moment. He found with a stifling shock that even with this seemingly insignificant thought – the fact that she was inches from him and yet somehow, she was too far away for him to reach out – his heart would squeeze pitifully with an invisible force. He was sure he had imagined it, since his heart couldn't possibly be in working condition by this time, but the pain did not lessen even from this deliberation.

He had long learned that just by purely reading her facial expressions – or lack-there-of for current reference – wouldn't work. And from the looks of things – which included Zoë thinking the floor was definitely more fascinating than her dance partner since she was staring at said floor right from the beginning of the dance – it didn't look like she was going to start a friendly conversation any time soon.

Swallowing with atypical difficulty, the silver-haired vampire decided he might as well speak.

"Zoë," his voice cracked but he attempted to hide his emotions which were dying to leak out bit by bit. When she gave no reply or any kind of reaction what-so-ever, he sighed, his dark irises hiding behind his shadowed eyelids as he closed his eyes in a tired manner. He tried again.

"Zoë, please." Simon knew she was still listening, even though she continued her act of veiling her thoughts – and face – to him. Knowing that much, and hoping she would hear him out, he went on, never seizing the rhythmic swaying to the music with his silent partner.

"Remember you were asking me why I brought you here on our first date, and I told you that was why I brought you here? All these places – pubs, taverns, lounges – they were all my means of escape for many years during the chase of my brother." His voice, though only very slightly but still visible to the quiet girl in his arms – hardened at the mention of his now dead brother.

"It may sound weird; funny, even," he let a cold chuckle escape from his tight throat before he kept going, "but all those places were my safe-houses. I never stay in one place for more than a week or two; there was no need for me to do that, and it would sometimes even put me in danger if I didn't move out. For decades, I wandered from one place to another. All that had kept me going was the thought of revenge for mother. I don't think I've ever thought of what I would do after I had killed him; I guess I just thought that I never would be able to."

The tinkling of the chords carried through the air, gentle as the series of interweaving notes created a soft layer of summer breeze that touched tenderly each of the listeners' souls. They paused; they closed their eyes to let this velvety rush of emotion swirled around and through them. He knew now for sure – from the grasping of his shirt with her slim, warm fingers – that he had caught her attention. Simon paused for a few seconds to let Zoë take all this in, before he started once more.

"I know I'm different from the rest of you," Simon was stopped shortly by the suddenly tightened clutch of the material of his shirt; he looked down in puzzlement to only see her long tresses still hiding her face but the passionate shaking vibrating from her touch was unmistakable. Gently, he drew the hand that was positioning securely on her waist to the small of her back and began to draw comforting circular patterns. The shuddering instantly softened.

"I'm so much stronger than you humans, and colder and unnatural as comparison that sometimes, I would try to deny this fact, even when it was so clear to me the whole time during my existence. It was useless. No matter how much I keep telling myself, how palpable my lies sound in my own head, it was clear that I'm no longer a normal human being, and I can never go back into being one. But that didn't stop me from pretending..." his voice dropped low, almost blending into the dark, melodic tune of the piano.

"Night after night I would join in their merriment in the cramped, smoky room – the alcohol, the dancing..." Simon didn't think he need to add in the explanation of hot, pumping liquid that was the life source of these moving bodies and his yearning desire to drain from them. "These were to numb my senses – my thoughts – mostly. And they worked, too. They kept me from thinking dangerous thoughts."

"And the music," the small, warm room was dissipating in his coal-black eyes; replacing the image was the setting he would find himself in years ago – flashing lights of blinding colors, loud sounds of people laughing and talking, monstrous stretching silhouettes of moving bodies and the music that was so well and alive, like a wild animal bounding towards the edge of the night, the end of the horizon. This was his medicine – to drown himself in it, made alive by moving in rhythm with it. He was the fake – always pretending to be something he wished but never could be – surrounded by the real thing.

Sometimes it worked, when Simon could almost feel that he was part of them; but sometimes, it just reminded him as harshly as if the obvious fact was slapping right on his face – so painfully real that he wished he could somehow, ended his miserable so-called 'life'. Yet, even that was almost impossible, and that just grieved him even more.

"Simon," the soft, but distinctive call of his name brought him back to the reality. To Simon's relief, she finally looked up from the floor and even though she wasn't exactly looking into his eyes, it made Simon felt better knowing that she didn't escape from him like minutes before.

"Music is what give me life, excuse my lack for a better phrase," he attempted to lighten up the mood between them. "At least with it, I can imagine myself as a human again." He had practically poured his heart out tonight, and in truth, it did make him feel a lot better even if this explanation was a bit unplanned. It didn't matter anymore, however, when Zoë's glistening gray orbs looked at his contrasting dark ones with what seemed to be pity.

He would admit this: before this whole thing started, before the death of Christopher, just one look – any look – from her eyes would satisfy him, but Simon found, with a searing desire, that this look – this pity – was not enough to satisfy his yearning anymore.

He wanted something more than sympathy; he was hungry for something much more than compassion. And he felt guilty because of those risky thoughts.

Yet, it was already too late for he had long fallen into it, just like he had trapped himself in eternal darkness years ago.

The slow, gentle ballad had seized to existence without either of the two youngsters taking notice. They had found themselves occupied in an insignificant corner where the yellowing glow of the lamps didn't cast on them.

With eyesight that exceeded any normal human's, the silver-haired male looked down while retrieving his arms; however, instead of placing them by his sides, he put each of his hand on either side of Zoë's head on the opposing wall, trapping the soundless girl in between. In his mind, he half expected Zoë to push him away or something of the sort, but she did nothing for a short-lived moment.

What she did next, though, was something Simon definitely didn't expect.

"I'm sorry," was what she had whispered as she looked up with her ashen-toned eyes to meet his gaze. It was the second time she had said this phrase tonight. He was surprised to see that her usually bright eyes were now shining a sharp glint originated from unshed tears, and perhaps – he dared to wish – something more?

For once, Simon didn't say anything in return. No words could quite describe his current feeling; it was a mixture of gratitude for her understanding, remedy from finally telling someone important to him about his usually untouchable emotions, and agony from seeing the tears that was partially inflicted by him.

Without another word, he pulled the girl that was now his life, his sole reason of existing, into his arms. Zoë, after the first shock of the movement, slowly relaxed and laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she put her arms around his waist to secure their hold onto each other.

x-----X-----x

Ryuko: Woah! That took me a hell of a long time to write. I guess I'm still at a writer's block but at least I've been able to squeeze out a (yes, relatively short) chapter. Still, comments will always be welcomed.

Oh, and if you're wondering about the 'music makes me alive' part, no, I didn't create that out of thin air. I used bits of the short story 'Summer of Love' by the same author with kind of Simon's background as the plot. So there you go: it's not totally random!

Until next time then (whenever that will be)!


	7. Ideas to Keep Warm

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Ryuko Ishida**

Ryuko: It's been a year since I start this story, and I'm still at chapter seven. How sad is that? Whatever, I tried.

DISCLAIMER: 'The Silver Kiss' does not belong to me.

x-----X-----x

From Last Chapter: 

Without another word, he pulled the girl that was now his life, his sole reason of existing, into his arms. Zoë, after the first shock of the movement, slowly relaxed and laid her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes as she put her arms around his waist to secure their hold onto each other.

x-----X-----x

Chapter Seven: Ideas to Keep Warm

The night had fallen deeper; the velvet black heaven was accompanied by a few, thin slivers of cloud that were drifting lazily in the breeze. The street was as empty and deserted as ever; the only things that gave it a sign of life were the yellowing street lights, like small, hovering fairies guarding the road and the scarce humans who dared to trespass there this late. Two of those said 'scarce humans' gradually came into view. Well, one of them – the male with a mass of silvery locks, to be specific – wouldn't be technically calling himself human. Even though he was only wearing a plain raven button-down shirt, he didn't appear to feel the sharp wind that waltzed past him and his companion every now and then. But he couldn't say the same for the female shuddering constantly beside him.

Their hands were linked and he knew that she was losing heat partly because of him – his hand wasn't exactly the warmest thing the girl could hold on to and the mechanism of conduction was causing the warmer of the two bodies to transfer heat to the cooler one. Being used to the cold for so long as his half-dead body was possibly even colder than surrounding air, Simon tried to pry his hand away from her grasp.

Zoë wasn't having any of that; prediction what he wished to do, her small hand tightened, not allowing his hand to move anywhere. At this, Simon's lips curled into a tiny, amused smile.

"You're shivering," he noted as he took a side glance at her. Her lips were set in a rigid, straight line, forcing herself to seize the shivering that the cold wind was coaxing her to do. Her long, trailing hair was brushed dramatically to the sides of her face, which was flushing red due to the unforgiving coldness of late autumn.

"No I'm not," Zoë replied, her eyes always aiming purposefully to the front, carefully avoiding any eye contact, because she knew the moment their eyes met, she would not be able to deny him of anything.

"Yes you are," Simon chided, "and I'm making it even worse for you." He attempted to retrieve his hand once more, and he had once more failed. He was surprised at her strength when it came to certain things and unknowingly, he was secretly glad that he was categorized as one of those few 'certain things'.

"No you're not," it was her turn to disagree. Since they were holding hands, and Zoë wasn't looking anywhere, certainly not at the vampire walking alongside with her but straight forward, she didn't notice he had stopped in his track, causing Zoë to stumble back. When he didn't give any explanation for their sudden detour, she gave him a questioning look.

At first glance, Zoë caught him looking cautiously and quickly around them, as if he was sensing for something. When he couldn't figure out what it was, he tried not to let his browns frown too deeply to be noticed by his girlfriend. It proved to be too late, though, when Zoë questioned, "Simon? What is it?"

"It's nothing," he gave her a weak smile, which initially translated that he was definitely hiding something.

"Simon," her attempt of a glare that was supposed to get him to tell her what he was thinking had no effect on the male whatsoever; it earned her a few chuckles instead.

"All right, all right, I give up," he laughed good-naturedly, releasing her hand and put up both his arms as an invisible shield as if Zoë's glare could fire out bullets. "I was just thinking about how I should keep you warm without you getting hypothermia indirectly by my fault."

"In that case, have you figured out a solution?" she lost her glare but challenged him all the same. In response, Simon's lips curled into a lop-sided grin – a grin she learnt some time ago that meant an idea just popped into his head.

"Actually, yes I have," he replied, that grin never left its respected place, "why don't I take my shirt off so you can wear it. That'll keep you warm right?" He knew he was right, well, at some level, as a delightful flush of cherry red tinted her cheeks as soon as his teasing words left his mouth. Right after the amused male had said his part, there was a short second, a pause which brought Zoë back to the scene not a long while ago when she was embraced into the current speaker's naked chest. That piece of memory then triggered an uncontrollable blush that pulled the uncomfortable heat along with it; Zoë instantly felt warmer than she should have been at that moment.

"No, thanks," miraculously, she was still in control of her tone, thought she couldn't say the same for her body temperature. "First of all, your sorry excuse for a warm shirt is not going to help," she eyed the thing material meaningfully to make a point, "and second of all, what would the neighbors think if they saw me walking down the street at night with a half-naked young man, who wasn't shivering the slightest in the middle of November und that analytical approach to respond was always a good and safe way to tackle any problems; at the current situation, it appeared to be quite successful as she was still able to hold her voice still, but only just.

Trying to ignore the heat that had slyly crept towards her cheeks and failing to do so, Zoë said while turning her head in another way, "why don't we take my idea instead?" She grabbed one of his cold hands and stuffed their locked fists into her coat side pocket.

"There. Now we can both be warm," she told him. Simon couldn't object to that, and he gave her a smile to acknowledge his agreement to her suggestion. Thus, in that manner, the couple began their way again.

---x-----X-----x---

Ryuko: Okay. I know this is short, but that's all I could mange before X'mas. This is not the complete chapter 7 but since I can't find time to finish it, I'll just split it into 2 chapters. Please consider this as a Christmas gift from me. Happy holidays, everyone!


	8. Dangerous Wish

**Regalo Gift**

**a fan fiction written by Ryuko Ishida**

Ryuko: Wow... it's been what? 5 months? I apologize to those who have been waiting for an update. University has been hell and finals don't really help, you know? Anyways, I'll shut up to let you read the chapter.

And yes... I've changed the title of the story since 'Christmas Gift', really, does not sound good. (And that hasn't been my most favorite title in the first place.) By the way, regalo in Italian (and apparently in Spanish, too) means gift.

DISCLAIMER: 'The Silver Kiss' does not belong to me.

x-----X-----x

From Last Chapter: 

Trying to ignore the heat that had slyly crept towards her cheeks and failing to do so, Zoë said while turning her head in another way, "why don't we take my idea instead?" She grabbed one of his cold hands and stuffed their locked fists into her coat side pocket.

"There. Now we can both be warm," she told him. Simon couldn't object to that, and he gave her a smile to acknowledge his agreement to her suggestion. Thus, in that manner, the couple began their way again.

x-----X-----x

Chapter Eight: Dangerous Wish

The remaining way back to Zoë's residence was a quiet one – not that it had bothered either of them, as their relaxed pace and tiny smiles suggested. All too soon, the two-story house was within their sight and the couple suddenly found themselves at the doorstep, with the yellowish alarm light flickered on to signal their arrival.

"Thanks for such a wonderful night," Zoë turned to face him.

"You're just saying that for my sake, aren't you?" His silky voice was in a teasing tone, but a faint hint of seriousness was intertwined skillfully within. "It can't be that wonderful if I've managed to upset you _and_ made you cry."

"I wasn't upset," she quickly protested in a defensive manner, but her gaze hastily darted downwards. "And I'm sorry that I've brought the whole thing up when..."

"Hush," he gently silenced her nervous stutters with a finger on her soft lips. "You have the right to know about it – my past – so don't apologize for things that are not your fault." Simon had lowered himself so that his eyes were leveled with hers.

"It's late. You should get in," he suggested, and was about to kiss her good night on her forehead when she slyly evaded – only to plant a light kiss on his lips. It was quick and swift, and left him wanting more. He tried to tame the wild desire within his teenage, raging hormone-driven body and grinned while fighting these internal urges. "You just can't get enough of me, huh?"

"I guess so," Zoë smiled sheepishly, and her fight against the incoming surge of flush was losing – if the faint rose color on her cheeks were any indication. Instead of encouraging the uncomfortable temperature to stay, the dark-haired female looked towards the velvet black sky, and sighed. For once, Simon – who was usually fairly good at reading his companion as they began to spend more time with each other – couldn't start to guess the meaning of Zoë's release of breath. This frustrated him – surprisingly so – though his facial expression would never show. He wanted nothing more than to understand what she was thinking – not so that he could predict her actions and words in order to prepare himself but so that he could make sure his strides and hers were always in sync.

"What's wrong?" His tone was of pure curiosity – nothing probing or cautious.

"I don't want to go in yet," she explained, her gaze at the heaven never wavered. The thick blanket of clouds that had hung limply during the earlier part of the evening had miraculously dissipated, revealing an endless horizon of smooth black satin and speckles of star dust sparkling politely back at the inhabitants of Earth. The sight had momentarily mesmerized her, not only because of the undecipherable patterns of constellations but also because of the hypnotizing shade of the sky – the cool, crisp onyx that highly resembled the color of a certain someone's eyes.

And that certain someone's onyx-shade eyes just happened to be looking at her – a sliver of amusement danced across the depths. Zoë quickly lowered her head; Simon laughed.

"What about the curfew that your father had set up?"

"I don't have curfews," she announced defensively, casting her boyfriend a dark look as all traces of embarrassment evaporated into the thin air. "They're for kids." This statement caused no reaction on Simon's part: his smile was still there, and it grew upon seeing Zoë's pout at his teasing words.

"Regardless, I did promise your father that I'll bring you back by midnight. He's probably wondering where I had kidnapped you at this very moment." Zoë wasn't having any of it; she ignored his words and quietly folded herself on to the chilly stone steps. Her frail body couldn't avoid shuddering as the sudden sharp cold shot up her spine.

"So stubborn," Simon shook his head in mock disapproval, ruffled her hair playfully, but followed her example anyway as he sat beside her warm form. He embraced her wordlessly with his capable arms, rubbing gently to keep her warm. Neither spoke for some time; it was getting easier by the minute – this friendly, faithful silence. They were at a point when no words needed to be exchanged.

"Sometimes," her soft voice was hesitant, almost as if she was afraid to break the fragile glass of silence. "I just wish things could stay the way they are right now." Simon looked down at her, and saw with slight dismay that her eyes were not meeting his; they were staring at the fidgeting fingers in her lap. He wasn't sure where this conversation would be going, so he waited for her to continue.

"Any slight changes will result in such unpredictable consequences – it scares me a little, especially in these few weeks," she chuckled nervously, internally shivered as she proceeded into her next confession. "I can never seem to picture myself in the near future, you know, when mom could be..." she paused with a shuddered breath, and closed her eyes to go on, "or you could be gone..." The silver-haired vampire, whose initial expression of amusement during their earlier banter had entirely disappeared, now transformed from mere curiosity to an ancient grief that carved painfully, yet at the same time beautifully, on his pale face.

"Be careful of what you wish for, Zoë," his tone was blend and distant, almost cold. "If things were to stay the same as of today till the end of time, what of you mother then?" Beneath his thin layer of clothing, he could feel her tensed up at his words as it struck a cruel realization into her mind. Subconsciously, Simon rubbed the small of her back; with some success, he felt her posture gradually relaxed against him again.

"You're right." He instantly regretted using that tone with her as her next words dripped with a mixture of pain, self-blame and embarrassment for being so thoughtless that should not be familiar to such a young girl. "She would be tortured by cancer forever. She'd never be able to withstand it, and neither would I."

"No, you wouldn't," his voice now rendered emotionless, and when he was sure that all of her previous shaking had seized, he stood up briskly, all movements smooth and flawless. "And what of you?" he stole a glance at Zoë, who was still motionless on the steps, her eyes still evading from his. "Are you really willing to spend an eternity with me? I know your feelings for me right now is very real, but what about fifty years later? A century later?"

His volume was rising with leakage of feelings but it never startled her being; it only added invisible weight into her already overloading soul. "You might get sick of me – you'll regret the decision you've made when you were just a child..."

"Stop it!" She shot up in a blur, fists at her side and they couldn't stop themselves from shaking – either with rage or with fear, or perhaps some unknown sentiments, Simon really couldn't tell at this point. Her reactions were – that was to say – too unpredictable, especially for a human. "Stop treating me like an ignorant kid, all right?"

There was no denying now: her voice was shrill – with traces of hysterics and wildness – so foreign even to herself that she had trouble believing it was her who was speaking. "You know what I want, above all things, Simon. You_ know_ it," her last three words trickled with plead. She reached out, feeling braver all of a sudden – probably from her outburst that somewhat relieved some of the earlier weight – and attempted to grasp his hands, wanting his reassurance – no, needing it.

"Don't you understand?" He let her held his hand, pale and cold that defined his status but he made no attempt to look at her in the eye this time. "By being with you, I'm also putting you in danger." For a short second, Zoë's face expressed confusion. He looked at her briefly before facing her properly, taking her two, warm hands and caged them within his bigger, cooler ones.

He let his breath out slowly. "All this time, I'm trying to protect you from myself. You have no idea how difficult and frustrated it is to be so close to you and not..." He glanced at her neck to make up the silent words; just the thought of that warm, ruby sweetness was plenty of enough to make Simon swallowed hard.

"If it's so hard for you, turn me into what you are," Zoë replied in a small but calm voice, looking down at their linked hands. Once more, her suggestion surprised Simon. Didn't she know what she was getting herself into? He almost wished he could whack some sense into this girl he loved so damn much; it was that, or he could always walk out of this train wreck before it was irreversible for the both of them.

"What – a monster?" He laughed bitterly; the sound was so remote that it chilled her skin and bones as if ice-cold water had seeped its way through her hot blood.

"No – a vampire," her voice was still sensibly composed.

"Never," he retorted sharply. Simon could see that the persistent girl was about to say something but he cut her off cleanly. "Do you actually want to be a damned creature that has to feed off humanity and their fear and live by darkness for all eternity? Is that what you wish to become?"

"If it means I can stay with you," she remained firm on this discussion. Why was he not surprise by this?

"What about your family?" He intended to at least force her to think over her rash decision twice. When it came to this – her safety – this three-century-old vampire was almost as stubborn as his human girlfriend, if not more. "Your father – he'll realize at some point that his daughter has not aged in years, and we can't risk revealing our identity if humans take special notice of us. You'll have to leave your family and friends behind. Are you willing to sacrifice all that just so that you can be with a vampire?" His tone on the last word reflected disgust, and she knew it was aimed at himself, at what he was.

Still, it didn't make it any easier. What Simon said – she realized while biting her lip in forced silence – made so much sense that she had a hard time trying to find a good enough comeback for the argument. His expression softened.

"You'll get over it eventually," Simon told her in a lighter tenor. "You are, after all, human. Without exception, you will forget through passage of time." Zoë didn't like the peaceful features on his face – no, it wasn't that she didn't like it. It was more like she didn't like the reason behind that triggered this reaction – his thought that she would lose her memory of him to time. Did he really think that little of her?

"You know I won't," she muttered grumpily.

"We'll see, won't we?" He smiled down at her and took her hand, leading her to the door. "Now be good and go in. Your father must be worried sick."

Almost grudgingly, she murmured an unwilling 'goodnight', ready to turn around to open the door when the light touch of his hand lingering on her cheek stopped her.

"Goodnight, Zoë," he stepped back and retrieved his burning hand to see her in.

---o-----O-----o---

When he noticed that same presence around him from earlier, Simon was on his way back to his temporary home – a small, rundown studio that he made sure there was as little sunlight as possible that could reach in. The man who was in charge of the renting had looked at him a bit strangely then, about a week ago when Simon used the little money he earned in one of those one-time-only jobs to rent the place, since people would prefer sunlight more than anything. But it wasn't his job to ask, nor was he entirely interested in what this young defiant punk was thinking, so he accepted the payment with a shrug.

"Who's there?" He bit out sharply, his hunter instincts snapped on to their fullest extend. It might have been his imagination, but he was sure that a ghostly chuckle replied his question.

"Hello, Simon," that voice, undeniably musical and feminine, greeted with familiarity.

"It's you," he was taken aback when he realized who it was as a petite figure appeared out of the shadow. He was troubled by this seemingly familiar acquaintance with this young woman, both back at the bar and at this very moment. Something about the way she moved so fluidly and gracefully and the expressions when she was playing the black and white instrument seemed to strike him in more than one way. Her melodies sifted through some past memories of his distant human life. Yet, he couldn't exactly pinpoint who she was. "You're the pianist from the bar – Nicholas, right?"

"It's Nicky," she corrected him automatically. She was now standing in front of the slightly stunned Simon. Her black hair was still untamed, the silver earring dangling from her ears sparkled with a knowing gleam and even though she was still wearing the tasteful spaghetti-strapped dress in November, she wasn't shaking one bit. A small smile was playing along her full lips and eyes – which, now that Simon finally took notice, was a tone of wine-burgundy.

Simon merely nodded, half-wondering why she was telling him what he assumed to be her nickname.

"How did you know my name?" He didn't remember introducing himself when he made a song request in the bar earlier that night.

"You really don't recognize me?" Her excited tone was dampened a little, but it quickly surfaced back up as her expression brightened up once more. "Well, I guess I should've expected that. After all, we haven't seen each other for... how long has it been now? It must've been about three hundred years."

As Simon contemplated these words in his head, an image – fuzzy like an old photograph at first, but colors and lines slowly strengthened it in the back of his mind – was forming, bringing him back years and years when he was still a human, back to the time when he was still a youngster, free from all the troubles of the black, black world.

He was about fifteen then, a bit shorter than his current state and the rounder cheeks indicated essence of an innocent child, and he was standing beside a grand piano forte. The instrument was a smooth, creamy wood, with elaborate carvings on its huge body. Sitting at the keyboard on a matching stool was a younger girl, probably two or three years his junior, with black, slightly curled hair in two loose braids and short bangs that almost reached her soft, brown eyes. She gave him a goofy grin before wiggling in her seat to a more comfortable position; Simon chuckled silently at this.

Next thing he knew, colorful notes were flowing, surrounding them with friendly breeze that embraced their being. It was tranquil as he watched, with fascination, the way her fingers danced across the long stage and when he looked back up to her face, he saw with equal cheerfulness that a delighted smile lighted up her face.

"Nicky!" His normally collected voice was disbelieved and lying beyond that was the recognition screaming from the past.

x-----X-----x

Ryuko: Hope that wasn't too confusing... or boring. Please comment to tell me how I'm doing. And thank you for those who've taken their time to read and comment on this story.

On a side note, I hope you guys won't mind me putting in an original character. It spiced up the story a bit. And just to give you a heads up, the next chapter would be a slight background of Nicholas Cross.


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